Burn
by I'mtheAlphahearmeRoar
Summary: Stiles is in heat. Who does he call? Give you one guess.


Usually, on an ordinary day, Stiles wakes up securely warm, snuggled up in the blankets of his bed, the sun glimmering brightly through the open crack in his curtains.

What he _does not_ wake up to is his skin boiling, sweaty and itchy, the moon light seeping through the crack in his curtains and illuminating the room, basking out over the shadows in a shimmering coat of diamonds.

"_Ah_, _ah_, ow, ow, ow," he whimpers, kicking his blanket off him and down to the end of the bed. His body feels hot, _too _hot, and the blanket is just trapping the blistering heat inside its confines, like an oven on the highest setting.

Stiles' breathing is un-even, coming out in short, wheezing gasps. He's panicking. And actually, he's well aware he's panicking. But who can blame him? His skin feels like it's on _fire_. That's _not _normal.

He considers calling his dad (they'd gone over the heat process and its side effects to werewolves when in the cycle on his 16th birthday, just to prepare him for the future so he'd know how to handle it), but then thinks better of it and decides that he doesn't want to bother him. He knows that if he calls, Dad will be off his shift in a jiffy and driving over without a seconds' hesitation. He isn't too keen on having his dad here while he's clawing at his own skin in agony.

So, he calls Derek.

The phone rings one, two, three, four times. Stiles curses, fingernails biting into the searing skin on his forearm, is contemplating hanging up when the seventh ring beeps monotonously, but then the rings stop and there's a harsh, familiar voice barking down from the other end of the line.

"_Stiles_, it's _one _in the morning."

Stiles laughs, a short relived sound as he scratches his nails down his arm, attempting, yet failing to quell the sweltering sensation that is his skin burning from the inside out.

"H-Hey, Derek. So, uh, weird thing is, I usually wake up later than this. Yeah, way later. Like, 8:00am later. But, well, when you feel like you've digested the _sun_? Yeah, you kind of wake up a bit earlier than usual. Who woulda thought, huh."

There's a crash and a shrill curse from the other end of the line, followed by the squeak of a mattress and pounding footsteps.

"Stiles, are you—are you in _heat_?"

And okay. Wow. Stiles _did not_ expect Derek to come to that conclusion straight away.

"Um," he mutters.

_Shit shit shit shit what do I do now Derek can't come over not when I'm like this oh my god_.

He's internally panicking even worse now (_thanks_ a lot Derek), options he can take shifting rapidly through his mind.

He could go out and find another werewolf to screw. (Wait, no, too much effort. And plus, he hasn't really got the _time _to go out and search for a fuck buddy. The heat's already increased his body temperature, next phase is the flood of hormones that overwhelm the body unless it gets friction of some sexual varitey.)

He could leave the house and find some place to stay until his heat is over (the woods, maybe), wait it out—tug many out. (But no, he _knows _that's not enough to satisfy the heat. He'll just be doing it over and over and over and over again. He'll be dry out of come before he finds even a _smidgeon _of relief.)

Or, he could wait here for Derek to arrive and whatever happens, happens. (Yeah. That sounds like the… safest option.)

"_Stiles_," Derek growls.

Oh. Heh. Alpha still on the phone.

"Okay, okay _yes_—yeah. I'm… I'm in heat, yes," he moans. Yep, phase two of the heat is well on its way.

The sound of an engine roaring crackles over the phone line and then Derek's saying, "Stay there and _don't move_, I'm on my way," before hanging up.

So yeah, Stiles… waits.

* * *

Stiles has a hand on his dick and three fingers stuffed up his ass when Derek finally bursts into his room, the door swinging violently on its hinges. The Alpha's nostrils flare almost immediately, eyes gleaming a rich, ruby red.

"Derek," he whines, frantically tugging at his cock, pushing his ass back on his fingers. The build-up only lasts seconds before his hips starts thrusting desperately, fist tightening over the head of his cock as he comes for the fifth time that night.

But it's still not enough.

His dick hasn't softened, not even a little. In fact it's an angry, enflamed red, pre-come glistening the head, come from his last orgasm dripping down the base, matted in the dark curls of his pubes.

There's a low, humming growl echoing from somewhere close by. Stiles discovers that the sound is a noise that's trapped in the hollow of Derek's throat, coming from the reverberating purr that's rumbling in Derek's chest.

"You need a mate," Derek murmurs, purr-ish growl tampering off as he strips his shirt, not waiting another second before sliding the denim of his jeans down his thighs, black boxers outlining the hard jut of his cock.

"Ohhhhh my god," he moans when the Alpha shucks the boxers. If he wasn't in heat he would be asking _is it hot in here or is it just me_. He doesn't care that he's making grabby hands because the guy in front of him is naked and hung and is a suitable mate and he fucking _needs that_.

"On your stomach, legs apart," Derek's orders, and apparently Stiles is into dominance because he just rolls right over. Derek's flanking him from behind before he's even finished spreading his legs, wrapping two strong, muscular arms around his torso and pulling him up so he's balanced on his knees, hands supported on the banister of the bed.

Stiles can't catch his breath fast enough, can only just gasp breathlessly as Derek spreads apart his ass cheeks and pushes in with one smooth slide, bottoming out with a soft grunt.

Derek takes his time with slow, rolling thrusts that rock his body forward, bed squeaking beneath them with every one. He tries to push back against them but it's no use and he feels like a swimmer battling a riptide. Derek just keeps the same pace, not thrusting in too deep, both hands holding his hips in place.

"Faster, _harder_," he whines. Derek doesn't pay it any attention, just keep moving in and out of him at the same pace.

It turns out that apparently pace doesn't matter. Just the feeling of being _filled _is enough. A few more minutes in, Stiles feels his sixth orgasm brewing, settling in the pit of his stomach like a spark about to give birth to a mighty flame. Two more thrusts and his breaths break into shaky whimpers, hands gripping the wooden banisters hard enough they groan under the force.

"Der, g-gonna come," he pants. Derek's movements pick up then, harder and faster, the force nearly throwing him off balance. The Alpha's hands slide up from his hips and instead Derek wraps both arms around his waist, pulling him back on his cock with every thrust.

"Go on then," Derek growls. His breaths are growing more shallow, hips starting to stutter. Derek's close too, and with that knowledge—that the Alpha's probably tried to remain in control since they started this, restraining himself from fucking into him too hard—he lets go with a choked gasp, arching his back so his head's resting on Derek's shoulder, come soaking the bed sheets underneath him and ass clenching around the werewolf's cock.

That must do it for Derek too, because the Alpha's hips slam forward, bucking in tiny jolts, before stilling as he comes, crying out softly. Stiles feels the come flood his ass, coating his insides in slimy, slick warmth.

"Wow," Stiles sighs after a few minutes of breathing heavily, closing his eyes. He feels limp and satisfied, the most happy he's ever felt in a long time.

Derek doesn't answer though, pulls out of him and gets up. Stiles blinks his eyes open and watches, confused, as Derek pulls his jeans, boxers and shirt on. When Derek turns around to look over at him, his olive green eyes are cast over by the light of the moon, illuminating them like emerald diamonds. The tick in the Alpha's jaw destroys the beauty of it, though.

"Derek?" he says, nervously. Derek has barely said a word. It's worrying. "What's the matter?"

Derek looks pained, eyebrows pinching together as his eyes flit up and down Stiles' body. Before Stiles can say anything else, the Alpha shakes his head, turning back around and heading towards the window.

Stiles swallows audibly, feels a lump form in his throat, an ache in his chest, buries his face into his pillow.

The thump of the Alpha's feet hitting the ground below his window is the last thing he hears before the sob held in his chest spews out, muffled into his pillow.

* * *

Stiles wakes up sticky, uncomfortable and with a crick in his neck. When he opens his eyes the sunlight attacks them fiercely and he whines, throwing an arm over his face. He just lays in bed, breathing quietly for a few seconds. When he's sure that he's lazed around enough, he slowly sits up, rubbing his hands over his eyes as he yawns.

Then there's the sound. It's a soft creak, barely there.

Stiles' head flies up as he searches his room for whatever it could have been, freezing when he finds himself staring straight into the wide, startled eyes of Derek Hale, right foot halfway in from climbing through his window.

"Sorry. I just." He snaps his mouth shut, eyes flickering away to the wall before landing back on Stiles with full, un-natural sincerity. "I just… I came here to apologize."

Stiles' eyes narrow. "What? Apologize for how you screwed the pooch then _left_?" He scoffs. "Well, I don't need your apologies. I'm fine. You're the Alpha and you gotta take responsibility for werewolves in heat that reside in your territory. I _get it_. Okay?"

Derek's face contorts and it looks like he's been slapped in the face. "What? Stiles, you think—_No_." He swings his other leg through the window, strides up to the bed Stiles' sitting on and yanks him up so they're chest to chest, face to face. "It's not like that," he says gently. "I—I freaked out. You're only seventeen, and I—I shouldn't have. What I did was-"

Stiles' anger dissipitates. "Wait. You left because you felt _guilty_?" He gapes. This was _not _what he'd expected.

Derek nods, glances down at the floor like a shy little puppy.

Honestly, it's adorable.

Stiles doesn't know what to do in this moment, thinks he should say something, but the feelings win out. He tugs the werewolf's head up, ignores the shock and confusion on Derek's face, and presses their mouths together.

The kiss is short, chaste, and Derek doesn't respond. When he pulls back, Derek's staring at him uncertainly, mouth parted. He holds up a finger.

"Don't even think about it. You felt guilty? I don't care. I want you, seventeen or not. Okay?"

Derek stares, silent and speechless.

"Alright. Now, I'm going to kiss you again whether you like it or you don't."

This time when their lips meet, Derek kisses back.

* * *

_**This was my first time writing a heat fic. Let me know what you thought please :)**  
_


End file.
